


Effortlessly

by whichstar



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Getting Together, Hockey, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Jock!Cindy, Not Beta Read, Not much tho, This is a cute ship, Tutoring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-20 19:40:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30009933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whichstar/pseuds/whichstar
Summary: It's effortless, how Liz molds herself into Cindy's arms, how Cindy uses her as a pillow. It's effortless, the way Liz figures out what makes Cindy's breath hitch and her favorite songs. It's effortless, the way Cindy knows what to order for her at restaurants and Liz's favorite date ideas.And Liz starts to think that it's not actually Cindy that's effortless in everything she does. It's just the two of them, effortlessly made for each other.
Relationships: Liz Allan/Cindy Moon
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	Effortlessly

**Author's Note:**

> Another fic of an obscure ship that got out of hand.. enjoy!

Liz never considered tutoring before, she never needed to because she always had other extracurriculars that could substitute it better than the school-issued tutoring program. But this year she finds herself signing up as a math tutor because she needs the easy volunteer hours with the decathlon having a chance at nationals. Her school's pretty smart as a whole so she figures that at most it's just free study time.

It is not free study time. She's paired with Cindy Moon -- a student that has never struck Liz as "struggling in school" before. At first, she thinks this will be easy, but that's not the case.

Cindy Moon, member of the hockey team and a relatively nice girl. Liz knows of her because there's not many students who participate in athletics at their school and Cindy's one of the only ones ever mentioned as a bright spot in their horrible sport programs. Good athletes are hard to come by in a school about science and technology. Liz only knows of her in passing. Their social circles never linked up before and just because they're both in the same grade doesn't make them automatically friends.

Well, Liz finally understands when they say you can't be good at school _and_ something else at the same time, because Cindy Moon's grades leave something -- a lot -- to be desired. Straight C's in all the core subjects, B's in electives and an A in physical education. Liz has seen worse but hearing about Cindy with those grades take her by surprise.

"Is it because I'm Asian?" Cindy jokes effortlessly at her expense when Liz says she thought Cindy would have all B's at least.

"What? No, of course not." Liz immediately denies, cheeks burning at the implication. She ducks her head. "You get mentioned on the morning broadcast pretty often for sports so I just assumed that it translated over to school."

Cindy gives a rueful smile -- something unreadable tinges her expression -- and shakes her head. "God, I wish math came to me as easily as hockey did."

And so begins Liz's futile attempt to get Cindy Moon to understand calculus. Something Liz understood in one lesson has to be dragged out through multiple sessions, Cindy slogging through her homework and notes at a sloth's pace. She's constantly turning things in late, which is the main reason Liz thinks she's almost failing. If only the assignments were turned in on time, then Cindy could have a B.

Sometimes they meet at the school library, other times at the city library. Their schedules are packed so it's difficult, but they manage. Liz doesn't think she ever had a more boring conversation than their chat history, which is just scheduling mumbo jumbo.

Cindy's nice and all, but it's so painfully obvious that her attention's elsewhere whenever they meet. Sometimes she's wired from hockey practice, or just counting the minutes down till when she has to leave for another hockey practice. But she placates Liz with an effortless smile, promising to do better but never delivers.

Because, as Liz comes to notice, everything about Cindy seems to come effortlessly. She's the star athlete of their grade, almost guaranteed some compensation of sorts for her skill. She just goes from class to class like she's unburdened by all the homework assigned. In a way, Liz thinks somewhat mirthlessly, she _is_ unburdened with the way she lets everything pile up.

It doesn't even seem like she's _trying_. It grates on Liz's nerves as she shakes Cindy awake for the third time in one session or taps her shoulder to get her attention from the window. She can't even appreciate the easy grin Cindy has whenever her focus comes back.

But maybe she's wrong, a voice tugs at the back of her mind. Because it's in the apologetic way Cindy rubs her forehead when she wakes up from a snooze, the slightly furrowed brows when it looks like she's trying to concentrate but can't. She really does look like she's trying -- at some points, but trying at some points isn't good enough. It all cumulates into one session where Liz just can't take it any more.

"Why did you sign up for this?" Liz asks, her arms crossing. "You're not even trying."

"Yeah I am," Cindy protests weakly. She tries to look offended but it comes off more as annoyed. "Math just doesn't like me. And my parents made me, of course."

Liz's watching intently now, analyzing the way Cindy shifts uncomfortably. There's more to the story than that.

"Your family didn't make you," Liz presses on. "This program wasn't advertised to the parents, you would've had to tell them yourself and I know you wouldn't have if you didn't want to come."

Cindy rolls her eyes, shoulders rising up.

"Look," Liz says firmly. "You're barely focused during our sessions and it feels like you're purposely not learning. So why did you sign up for something that'll just end up wasting your time?"

"To improve my grades."

"But _why_?"

"I felt bad, okay?" Cindy mumbles like she's embarrassed. She won't look at Liz. "Whenever the topic of grades come up, and I know they love me, but the fact that I can't even be the perfect all star daughter they want me to be--"

"Cindy."

"They sacrificed so much for me already and -- it's hard, you know? Being one of the only Koreans in the area -- and, and." A shuddering breath. "So I thought maybe if I tried a bit more.. was a better daughter.. and I know that hockey's a long shot but at this point it's my only lifeline and.."

"Cindy."

She finally looks up. Sudden embarrassment and shock flashes in her eyes, like she regrets everything she just said. Liz's taken aback by the vulnerability in them.

"I'm sorry." Cindy shakes off her sad expression like it's nothing; that effortless smile back at the drop of a hat. "Anyways, where were we?"

Liz hesitates. She never handled emotional situations very well, and this whole conversation feels like a minefield. But she does want to say something, something reassuring, something comforting. But she also doesn't want to pry if Cindy doesn't want any prying done. She's pushed too much already. Strange, she's never cared much before.

"Alright," she says after a pause. "We were talking about the unit circle."

Cindy scrunches her nose but doesn't protest, flipping her notebook to a new page. It's like the whole talk never happened; like Cindy Moon never cracked open her soul. They're going back to talking about circles like it's nothing.

Liz tries her best to stay on topic, but she can't help herself as the study session closes to an end. She finds herself grabbing Cindy's arm right as the student stands up, looking into doe-like eyes -- searching for something she doesn't find.

"Hey, you're doing your best," Liz starts, barely believing the fact that she's speaking at all. "And I might not completely understand your situation, but I'm here to talk? If you need."

A slow smile breaks out on Cindy's face; it reminds Liz of the morning sun. She lets go of the hockey player's hand, face suddenly warming.

"Thanks." Cindy nods, hoisting her bag onto her shoulder. "I'll see you around?"

"Yeah," Liz whispers. She watches Cindy stride out of the library with a new set of eyes.

It's strange, how Cindy carries on like nothing happened between them. Their texts remain boring, their conversations strictly math. Liz sees her in the hallways but they only ever say hi to each other. It's easy to get lost in the crowd, easy to watch Cindy Moon from afar like how a satellite observes the earth.

Maybe it's the crowd, Liz considers. Cindy, after all, sticks out like a sore thumb among them. She's the one of the only Asians in their predominantly white sport teams -- which is already weird in itself since the rest of the school programs are pretty mixed. Maybe because the only available options are golf, lacrosse, and field hockey.

The athletes are always loud and obnoxious, acting like they aren't one of the worst programs in the entire school and hanging out in their little cliques. They're notorious for being freeloaders, uniform in their jerseys. But sometimes Liz sees the downturn of a mouth, the grimace of a joke falling flat that leads her to believe that the athletes aren't the perfect front they seem to present.

"Cindy Moon?" Betty asks to clarify over lunch at Liz's question. "She's nice. I feel bad for her carrying the whole hockey team on her back."

"The sport teams are a joke," Sally agrees. "All they are a bunch of rich kids whose parents paid for a sports scholarship."

"Cindy, though, she's the real deal." Betty leans in. "I've heard that all the sports moms are pissed because she always gets the spotlight."

Liz eyes the unofficial sports table on the other side of the cafeteria. Cindy's on her phone, sometimes glancing up to smile at something someone says. There's something about her interactions with them, like being a part of something yet excluded at the same time.

She picks up her phone and shoots a quiz text at Cindy, heart in her throat. Moments later, Cindy's head shoots up and she looks around the cafeteria. Their eyes meet, and Liz waves. Cindy waves back, a smile sliding onto her face. She texts something back: **u bored?**

[Liz] **u could say that**  
[Cindy] **wanna get smth from the vendibg machines?**

Liz nods without thinking, then realizes that Cindy can't see her. She texts back a yes, and excuses herself from her lunch table. Her friends all look on curiously but don't ask any questions.

Cindy buys her a chocolate bar and they sit at the steps of the empty staircase. An actual conversation starts, not one centered on math, and Liz counts it as progress. They talk about the mundane, the latest superhero gossip. Somehow, hockey comes into the conversation.

"Oh field hockey's great, team's fine." Cindy leans back, her slight frown saying it's anything but. "But ice hockey is where it's really at."

"You do both?" Liz asks, interest piqued.

"Yeah, I play club for ice." Cindy grins.

Liz entertains the small talk, but she really wants to know. "Why do you hang out with the field hockey team," she asks carefully. "When they don't like you?"

Cindy's silent for a moment, thinking over her words. She says eventually, "I don't know. Probably because if I started hanging with a different crowd I'd get even more jabs thrown my way, huh?" Her effortless smile's back. "Can't have people thinking that our sport teams suck more than they already think they do."

Liz refrains from saying that people already know that the sport teams here suck. That Cindy's the only one willing to put in the effort to improve it. Cindy seems to understand her sentiments, however, breaking into a laugh at Liz's expression.

"The sports here really do suck," Cindy admits through heaving breaths, making Liz break out in laughter too.

.

They meet again and this time Liz's the one being tutored. They're not supposed to be doing anything other than math during this time, but it just happens. Liz's beating herself up with meaningless science terms -- this unit is absolutely killer -- when Cindy walks in, back from practice. She slouches into the chair, gulping down her bottled water before looking over Liz's open books.

She asks, "do you need help?"

Because apparently -- and this was news to Liz -- as much as Cindy might suck at math, she's a master at science. She just seems to _get_ it, although her grades might say otherwise.

"Thermodynamics." Cindy says effortlessly when Liz nods, like she doesn't have a C in every core subject. "The relationship between heat, work, temperature, and energy. Last progress quiz was a doozy -- got a 76 -- but the concept's simple in of itself."

Liz stares. "You got a 76 but the concept's simple?"

"Got distracted by the window." Cindy waves her hand. "It couldn't be helped. Plus Mom's a scientist, that's why I'm here."

A flash of shame appears in her eyes before it's quickly chased away with a hum. She leans closer to Liz's worksheet, mumbling something about the three laws. Their conversation from last time comes to mind and Liz starts to think that it's the school at fault, not Cindy's intelligence.

Her gaze drifts to the hockey player's arms. It's not like she can help herself, those arms are begging to be looked at, school dress code thrown out the window since they're at the city library anyways. Cindy's wearing a tank top today, her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail with flyaway hairs all over. Her arm's not beefy, or brawny, but sinewy muscle ripples below the skin, well defined and taut. The strap of a black sports bra is peeking out and that's when Liz realizes that she's been staring for too long.

Luckily, Cindy's still talking about the concept, face wide and open as she explains about the transfer of energy or whatever. She's almost as invested as she gets whenever hockey comes up in the conversation. Liz lets herself get swept up in Cindy's voice, the way it lilts and cadences.

She could get used to this, she thinks, watching stray strands of hair flutter from the force of the air conditioning as Cindy gestures. Cindy's not the best teacher, fumbling over explanations and mixing up words as she speaks, but she doesn't relent until she's sure Liz understands. And because she's so enthusiastic, Liz finds herself actively paying attention.

They start ping ponging back and forth like that, Liz tutoring math and Cindy sometimes helping with science. She's best at biology, soft sciences, Cindy claims, and Liz believes her. It's a slow process, but Cindy seems to put more work into it, as if to make up for her inaction at the beginning. Slowly, progress is made.

.

It's early in the morning and Liz already regrets signing up for the early session. It seemed like a good idea at the time, getting in some study time with Cindy before school, but Liz can barely keep her eyes open. She heads to the locker rooms, where Cindy said she'll be, to tell her maybe that they should push this session to the afternoon when Liz's more awake when she hears voices from the open locker room door.

Liz flattens herself against the wall as a new voice joins the din. She doesn't know why she does, she's doing nothing wrong, but instinct overrides her common sense.

"Another C, eh?" A voice says lightly.

"You know me." This voice is familiar. "C for Cindy."

"I can't believe I ever considered bullying you into doing my homework." A chortle. "Who knew Asians could be so dumb?"

A fire ignites in Liz's stomach and she grits her teeth.

"That's right." Cindy sounds resigned, false pep in her voice. "Dumb Asians existing, who knew of the possibility. I'm practically white, aren't I."

There's noises of hands clapping onto backs, noises of bodies running into each other and laughs filling the locker room. Liz slips away, original intentions forgotten. She's too mad to think straight.

Cindy Moon may be a lot of things, but she's not _dumb_. Liz knows this. What's _dumb_ is that she's letting those good for nothing athletes who pay for grades walk over her like a rug.

Does Cindy know, Liz's struck by a thought, that she's not dumb? It stops her in her tracks, that thought, and she finds herself frowning.

Because, yeah, the hockey player might be making C's in her classes but there's no one else Liz knows who can think quicker on her feet or plays for the whole team. Plus, her grades _have_ been climbing since Liz started tutoring her.

"Join the decathlon team." Liz finds herself telling Cindy, more like ordering, when the athlete walks into the library. "I think we could use someone like you."

"No offense." Cindy's brows knit up in that concerned ( ~~adorable~~ ) way. "But isn't that for smart people?"

"You _are_ smart." Liz says, placing a hand on Cindy's. "And we need another science whiz."

Cindy looks unsure but she agrees to attend the next meeting anyways. It's not like she has anything else to do, she says.

Unsurprisingly, she fits in effortlessly. Like how she does everything. She's a real team player -- Liz already knew this but it's amazing to see her in action -- and isn't afraid to take Flash down a notch when he makes a passing comment about her grades.

"My grades," she says lazily, twirling a pencil in her hands. "Are none of your concern when I score higher in my level than you do in yours. There's a reason I'm not an alternate."

No one else seems to catch the way Cindy's nose screwed up slightly at Flash's comment. They're too busy reeling from Cindy's retort, erupting into laughter and jokes. If you blinked, you would've missed the way her eyes flashed that deep sadness again.

Too bad Liz doesn't blink when it comes to Cindy Moon.

It's not fair, Liz thinks, to have your grades constantly being brought up when there's so many other great things that define you. She wonders how Cindy deals with it at all.

.

The decathlon practices happen right after school's out and Cindy's usually there by the time Liz walks in, hockey bag at her feet. She's also the first to leave, dashing to hockey practice with surprising agility. Liz thinks it's insane how one student can handle that much. She a bit more forgiving whenever Cindy starts dozing off during their tutoring sessions now.

She gets to see Cindy more outside of their tutoring sessions, which is nice -- more than nice. Especially since Cindy starts hanging with her group of friends instead of the so-called athletes. And unlike school, the decathlon practices make learning fun. Cindy takes to it like fish to water. But this whole Cindy joining the decathlon team setup, however, isn't good for Liz's heart. Because whenever her laugh lights up the entire room, whenever she rolls her eyes and huffs at something someone says, Liz feels her heart speed up.

_I don't have a crush_ , Liz argues with herself when Cindy winks at her with the correct answer. _I don't have a crush_ ; her breath catches in her throat when Cindy tucks a hair behind her ear. _I don't have a crush_ ; she blushes when Cindy hands her a chocolate bar from the vending machine.

Okay _fine_. Maybe she does have a crush. She finally admits it to herself when Cindy waves at her from across the hall, her face lighting up. She admits it to herself when Cindy dozes off again at their tutoring sessions and Liz laughs it off because she could never be truly mad anymore. But she never admits it out loud. Because that would make it real.

She finds herself thinking of doe eyed girls, crescent smiles, and kissable lips before going to sleep.

.

"Ice hockey is in season right now, you buffoon." Cindy calls from over her shoulder as Abe tries to flex his minimal sports knowledge. "Why would it be in season during the summer? It's literally called _ice_ hockey."

"I thought you only did field hockey." Ned pipes up.

Cindy exchanges a glance with Liz, rolls her eyes and bends over to unzip her duffel bag. She dangles a pair of black ice skates, much to Mr. Harrington's chagrin, and drawls. "Can't I do both?"

That shuts the boys up. They regard Cindy with newfound respect and Liz doesn't miss the way Hector's eyes drop to Cindy's lips. Something a little like jealousy washes over her but she ignores the feeling, letting it simmer on the backburner. Cindy goes back to the practice problems, shoulder bumping against Liz's as she shoots that perfect grin over. Liz smiles back.

The whole team attends one of Cindy's field hockey games. Partially because of Mr. Harrington's constant efforts to build team camaraderie; another part because of the school's renewed efforts to push their sport programs. ("It doesn't make sense," Michelle complains, "why push for athletics when this is a science and tech school? No offense, Cindy." "None taken; you're right"). Cindy playing for the varsity field hockey team was just the perfect storm for Mr. Harrington to earn brownie points with the team and school board.

Of course they go overboard. Abe and Ned make it a game to learn the most obscure hockey trivia and shout it during the games. Peter and Hector join the girls in making a poster to cheer Cindy on. Michelle hops onto a new conspiracy that makes all other conspiracies pale in comparison. Flash shouts the strangest bits of encouragement Liz has ever heard. And Cindy just takes it all in stride -- effortlessly.

Sports have never interested Liz but seeing a group of girls fight over a ball is kind of thrilling. Especially when Cindy maneuvers the stick with such skill, passing the ball over to her teammates and shouting commands. She's single-handedly keeping the team afloat as her teammates fumble. Her braided hair flies behind her as she runs the length of the field, eyes constantly roaming the grass for hidden plays. Her stick's blue, which matches her headband, and her jersey (number 7) sticks to her lithe body like glue. Sweat drips down, the afternoon sun beating down on her exposed arms and Liz's throat goes dry.

The decathlon team is the second loudest when it comes to cheering. First place has to go to Cindy's family, the Moon family. Liz watches them clapping and cheering as hard as they can, only proud looks on their faces. Not a care in the world other than seeing their daughter play. They're more invested in the game than some of the people around them, even Cindy's little brother is paying attention.

Cindy's a monster on the field and Liz can barely believe that someone like her lets so many microaggressions go by, just like that. They really need to talk about that. Especially when it very clearly gets to her, Liz sees the moments when the mask drops, when split seconds of _hurt_ take over Cindy's usually relaxed face.

Maybe it's because of her Type-A personality, but Liz can't help but think Cindy should try standing up for herself. But she also knows what it feels like to be constantly belittled, to have snide comments chip away at one's confidence. _A death by a thousand_ _cuts_ , they say. Funny how people can understand that, but refuse to even believe that microaggressions exist.

Cindy catches her gaze as the game winds to an end. She grins, eyes forming crescent moons, and Liz smiles back. It's not new, the fluttery feelings that erupt, but her cheeks flush anyways.

The Moon family treats them all to ice cream. It's getting late and Liz's pressed up against Cindy's side in the cramped booth and 90s music is playing overhead and Cindy's laughing and everything feels _just right_.

Liz is caught staring and she passes it off by reaching out and tucking in a stray hair. Cindy's eyes gleam and she offers her ice cream to share and Liz takes a cautious lick, her own ice cream in hand. Vanilla fills her mouth and now _she's_ the one who catches Cindy staring and they just stay like that until Flash draws them back into conversation; the moment broken.

It's late and Liz shivers just so and Cindy offers up her letterman and now warmth envelopes Liz as the slightly oversized letterman hangs from her shoulders. But she can still feel the pressure of Cindy's shoulder against hers even through the padded jacket, and she leans in closer. It's late as she listens to Michelle bicker with Abe and Ned about the Avengers and sees Flash brag about his latest designer watch and, in the warmth of the letterman, she can ignore the way Hector's eyes hang on Cindy and how Peter keeps glancing over in their direction.

And Liz's content.

If she closes her eyes she can still vividly picture that day. Cindy clutching the poster they all signed, rosy red cheeks and a smile on her face. Her dad holding her duffel bag and her mom taking the letterman from Liz with a gentle smile. They're the picture of a perfect family and it's impossible to see how Cindy's insecurities have any merit through the sheer amount of love in their eyes.

Hector lingers, is the last to leave, and Liz watches from the window as her mom pulls out of the parking lot. He looks bashfully down at Cindy, and Cindy's head is tilting up, flush still on her cheeks that Liz can't tell if it's from the cold or because of him. They smile and laugh as Liz pulls away and something cracks in her heart.

Because Hector, with his boyish good looks and understanding nature, is the definition of the boy-next-door dream guy -- someone the parents would a hundred percent approve. There's no question on who the parents would approve of more because Liz's a _girl_ and even being captain of their decathlon team doesn't make up for that fact.

She bottles it all up inside.

.

"We're rooming, right?" Cindy says as a greeting, flopping onto the chair. She uses her arms as a pillow, laying her head on the table.

"Huh?" Liz replies distractedly, reading a line in her book. She looks up when finished, taking in Cindy's half closed eyes. The hockey player almost looks nervous.

"For nationals." Cindy clarifies and places a hand over the book so Liz can't go back to reading. "Hotel room?"

"Oh, yeah of course." Liz's heart jumps to her throat. She can't find herself to meet Cindy's eyes.

"Oh and I was gonna ask you if we can have the next tutoring session at your house?"

"Of course, why?"

"It'll be the weekend and I don't wanna spend the weekend at the library." A slight whine colors Cindy's voice and Liz can't help but smile. "Also Albert's attending a birthday party and my mom said hanging at the library doesn't count as an excuse. So crashing at yours is my excuse."

"Alright." Liz rolls her eyes and pulls Cindy's hand away from her book.

When Liz opens the door to let Cindy in that weekend, she's a bit more nervous than usual. She obsessively cleaned her room hours before and made sure that she's dressed in her good joggers and oversized shirt. Cindy's in a casual hoodie, grey sweats, and a backpack's swung over her shoulder. Liz almost forgot they were here for school stuff.

Her parents aren't home, Liz explains, almost tripping over those words. They climb the stairs to her room after grabbing a bunch of snacks from the pantry. Cindy teases her on the childish BFFs bracelet hanging from her mirror as if she herself doesn't have the matching one. Liz isn't afraid to point out that the hockey player has glow in the dark stickers taped to her room's ceiling, so who's really the childish one now?

They get minimal studying done. Cindy's twirling around her chair, smirking in a way that sends shockwaves through Liz's nerves. Liz's sitting on top of her desk, book on her lap as she tries to focus in vain. Her head keeps bobbing up in faux-annoyance, much to Cindy's delight and she scoots closer.

The next time she looks up, Cindy's staring right at her and Liz's breath hitches. Her lids are heavy with something like want and everything Liz planned to say dies in her throat. She leans in closer and now their noses are barely touching and Cindy whispers. "Can I?"

Liz nods the smallest of nods and the book falls to the floor. Cindy isn't wearing a shirt under the hoodie.

Flash forward and they're now in Liz's bed, Cindy's hoodie thrown somewhere in the room along with Liz's joggers. Cindy's back is against the wall, legs splayed out so that Liz can lay forward comfortably between them. Their legs are tangled in a mess of limbs, bare skin against soft fabric. Liz thinks, head nestled on Cindy's smooth stomach and her arms loosely hugging the sitting girl, that it was a good idea to close the bedroom door.

The surprise it would be, Liz thinks in blurry eyed amusement, for her parents to walk in on two girls cuddling, one without a shirt and their daughter without pants. At least their underwear are still on. And good thing her parents are both still out of the house.

Cindy bows to trail kisses on Liz's head, and Liz groans in response. She can feel her shirt slipping and exposing her shoulder, bare save for the nude bra strap. Her eyes flicker up to see amusement on Cindy's face, recalls the smirk from earlier, and lazily accuses, "This was your plan, wasn't it."

"Not particularly." Liz can feel the vibrations of Cindy's giggle. "But I did nothing you didn't want me to do."

Liz buries her face in Cindy's stomach again, feeling the rough fabric of a sports bra on her forehead. The kisses have stopped. She grumbles, heat spreading from her core to her face and ears, "Well, do more of that."

"Needy needy." The kisses on her scalp continue.

.

It was inevitable, Liz thinks, that their tutoring sessions don't end up being tutoring sessions anymore. More like locked doors and gentle shushes as one or the other struggles to keep silent ("why don't you tutor me on how to make you feel good?" a breath ghosts her skin "really? Is that the best you could come up with?").

Rough hands through her hair, calloused from years of holding hockey sticks, fingers surprisingly gentle. Feather-light touches and interlocked pinkies. It's mostly cuddling. Lots and lots of cuddling.

If anyone notices their new closeness bordering past platonic, they don't make a comment. Whenever they sit next to each other during lunch or at decathlon practices, their pinkies are intertwined. Cindy laughs at Hector's jokes and Liz's grip tightens. Peter fumbles over his words and Cindy moves their pinkies closer to her thigh.

They balance each other well. Liz is the first to defend Cindy whenever someone makes a passing comment about intelligence, Cindy soothing her with soft whispers and small pats. And when Liz checks up on Cindy afterwards, Cindy just kisses her speechless. Which, as far as rewards go, that's the best there is.

"Imposter syndrome sucks," Cindy groans and Liz just hugs her with reassuring murmurs on her tongue. It's rare to see Cindy so open about her true feelings, and Liz treats those moments with as much care as possible.

And, in turn, Cindy takes care of her. She knows how to lift Liz's spirits, offers her a shoulder to cry on, and is a safe space to complain in. She's the first to encourage Liz and the first to call her out in her mistakes.

"Relationships are a two way street," she says, affectionately nudging shoulders. "And that means I get to tell you when you're in the wrong."

"Well you're the wrong one." Liz complains. "It's just pizza."

"Just pizza? Liz, you're unforgivable."

.

She finally agrees to go ice skating. Cindy's movements on ice are effortless, almost graceful, as she speeds around the rink. Liz clutches the wall, wobbling on the skates that Cindy had to tie for her. She watches with sparkling eyes as Cindy shows off, the chilly air biting both their cheeks, and everything's perfect.

If Cindy was a monster on the field, she's a demon on the ice. Liz never knew that hockey was such a violent sport. She watches in rapt attention, almost flinching at every shove made at Cindy's way, at her first ice hockey match. Because Liz is a great girlfriend (Liz still can't believe that Cindy's her girlfriend), she knows that Cindy is a forward and that her jersey number is 7. Other than that, she has basically no idea what's going on, only able to differentiate people by their jersey numbers.

Liz's sitting behind Cindy's parents, Cindy's letterman wrapped around her shoulders. She made sure to slip it on after they sat down, a bit cautious around the parents. No one knows that they're dating.

"Weak backhand," Cindy's dad murmurs to his wife, who nods. They're immersed in the match.

The first match Liz's ever seen Cindy play in is also a sleepover. Albert, Cindy's little brother, whines for Mexican food and so they all go to celebrate in a restaurant after. Cindy's pinky interlocks with hers under the table and Liz can't help but adore the confident smile that appears after a game.

It's fully dark outside when they arrive at Cindy's house. Cindy's mom apologizes for the nonexistent mess their house is in and Liz assures her with a smile that it's fine.

"We'll be upstairs," Cindy tells her parents before dragging Liz to her room.

"Impatient?" Liz teases as the door locks behind them.

"After seeing you in my letterman?" Cindy breathes out. "Who wouldn't be?"

If Cindy notices her stuff one of her ice hockey jerseys, a big oversized thing, into her backpack the next morning she doesn't say anything. At least she keeps quiet about it till their D.C. trip when Liz wears it as her pajamas ("I knew I was missing one of those").

.

It's effortless, how Liz molds herself into Cindy's arms, how Cindy uses her as a pillow. It's effortless, the way Liz figures out what makes Cindy's breath hitch and her favorite songs. It's effortless, the way Cindy knows what to order for her at restaurants and Liz's favorite date ideas.

And Liz starts to think that it's not actually Cindy that's effortless in everything she does. It's just the two of them, effortlessly made for each other.

**Author's Note:**

> If I projected a little onto Cindy as a fellow asian with imposter syndrome -- we will not speak of it
> 
> I took some of Cindy's characterization from the Marvel Comics -- especially the Silk comics as it's the same canon character, I just tried to fit her into the MCU the best I could. Hector is Cindy's highschool bf in those comics.


End file.
